O Sleep

O Sleep, O Sleep Where can you be?
You haven’t come, it’s half past three
I toss, I turn, I lie, I sweat
But you ain’t poked your head in yet

It’s late, it’s late, I have to rest
Tomorrow I have to be at my best
I have a meeting with my boss
He’s under pressure and is sure quite cross

Why do you think this concerns me?
You were too cheap to fix your AC
So now you sweat under your fan
An d count the ticks from your clock’s hand

And you are you complaining, fool?
Don’t you remember your mama’s rule?
Don’t drink no soda after lunch
Or you won’t sleep when evening comes

O Sleep, O Sleep, time marches on
There’s no repose before the dawn
Although in darkness and silence wrapped
My thoughts forbid one single nap

It’s late, it’s late; it’s almost light
I’ve gone and wasted this whole night
Now I’m too tired to work or think
Could you not spare one single wink?

Why do you point your wrath at me?
You are your own worst enemy
I didn’t bring those thoughts to light
Your conscience bellows in the night

O Sleep, O Sleep just go away
The alarm rings in another day
I guess I’ll keep myself upright
With coffee ‘til I get home tonight

Poor man, poor man, why think you so?
As if you don’t already know
Your eyes are heavy, your gait is tired
I’ll come to work and get you fired

Stuck in the Middle (of Stew)

To the Tune of Stealer's Wheel's "Stuck in the Middle"

I don't know how I came to this plight
I'm guessing that something ain't right
I'm wearing some kind of a baste
Cooking tender for the perfect taste
And there's cannibals left of me, shamen to the right
Here I am, stuck in the middle of stew

And I'm stuck in the middle of stew
And I don't think there's much I can do
They're looking hungry and they want me to stay
Here for dinner as the main entree
And there's diners to the left of me, stokers to the right
Here I am, stuck in the middle of stew

And I started for the Congo to learn about my fellow man
But I wound up in the pot, and all because they want my meeeeeat
To eeeeeeeat

Well, it's awfully hot on the floor
And the water can't boil any more
The witch doctor has started his dance
And I'm really not liking my chance
Well, there's cannibals left of me, shamen to the right
Here I am, stuck in the middle of stew

And they all said I was crazy, they said that I was a brazen man
I was trying to be manly, and now I'm cryin' "Stanley pleeeeease
Help meeeeeee"

I don't know how I'll make it tonight
Victim of a sacrificial rite
With veggies and spices I bathe
Because they'd rather have a meal than a slave
And there's diners to the left of me, stokers to the right
Here I am, stuck in the middle of stew

Fine

To the tune of "Time" by Hootie and the Blowfish

Fined, why'd you punish me?
Just went eighty miles an hour in the city.
Fine, that I have to pay
I really had somewhere to go
And I just couldn't wait
I'm just thinking about tomorrow
And the dough I'll have to borrow
To get it paid
Another bill I have to pay
I don't believe this fine

Fine, I can't understand
Why I work so hard to make my wage
Just to have it taken by the man
Fined by the men in blue
Watching me coming over the road
Gotta make their quota tonight
If I don't want car impounded
And leave me like I'm grounded
I'll have to pay
Can't put it off another day
I have to pay this

CHORUS:
Fine I loathe it
Fine I hate it
Fine, you ain't no friend of mine
It sucks so bad
I'm left wonderin'
Why they call it a fine
They're after my last dime
It's in the mail tomorrow, yeah
Now get lost you greedy creeps

Fine, didn't know the cop was there
Like I was just driving all alone
The man went and stripped me bare, stripped me bare
Fine, that I'm paying on
Save for retirement another day
Now that my paycheck has come and gone
I'm worried about tomorrow
And all the pain and sorrow
Embarrassing
This headache I have to pay
And I don't believe this

Chorus

Fine, and a process fee

Reggae Trad

To the tune of "I Shot the Sheriff" by Bob Marley

I resist the Pontiff, but I do not accuse him of heresy
I resist the Pontiff, but I do not accuse him of heresy

Went to my local parish one day
The pastor said all I had to do was obey
I had to cry, for my eyes did see
It was a protestant liturgy
I said

I resist the Pontiff, but I do not accuse him of heresy
I resist the Pontiff, but I do not accuse him of heresy

Monsignor O'Shea is now Father Bob
He took off his collar and he got a job
Then married Sister Marie
And now has a Methodist ministry
I say

I resist the Pontiff, but I do not accuse him of heresy
I resist the Pontiff, but I do not accuse him of heresy

Cardinal Casaroli always hated me
For what, I don't know
I try to practice Catholicity
But Rome seems to just want it to go
I say

I resist the Pontiff, but I did not condemn the Cardinal prefect
I resist the Pontiff, and they say it has a schismatic effect

Monsignor Lefebvre started a Society
That the bishop said was not of the diocese
But with paganism being spread about
With them, my faith would bottom out
So I bailed out
I say

I resist the Pontiff, but I do not accuse him of heresy
I resist the Pontiff, but I do not accuse him of heresy

Dobie Gray

To the Tune of "Drift Away" by Dobie Gray

A day in the life of yesterday's news
I wait for the bus in the pouring rain
This ain't the life that I would choose
Finances are strained
Back is in pain

Chorus:
Oh, give me some street love and green back dough
I once was a star singing rock-n-roll
I'm Dobie Gray
If you play it in B, then I'm in control
I know that I was born to sing rock-n-roll
I'm Dobie Gray

Beginning to think
I'll lose my mind
Sick of takin' bus 42
And the ride to the assembly line
There's buttons to screw
What can I do?

Chorus

And when my mind is free
Mem'ries of the '70's improve me
When I'm not on the stage
Monotony and rage consume me

Thanks for the times you've given me
Pay me a fee and I'll sing you a song
Because that's the way it used to be
I can sing strong
The Drift Away song

Chorus

Come on and pay me
Oh pay me

I Just Ripped So

To the tune of "Calypso" by John Denver

There's a gold colored breeze, methanical motion
That flies from the backside that's opaque and warm
This work in the service of rife odor giving
Comes from the gas of digestion unblown
After a bowel movement, the fart it was flowing
Starting to think that you understand

I just ripped so, the place has turned into
A house of malodor, so noxious the smell
I just ripped so, I hate to admit it
But smoke follows me, so no lie I can tell

I did i-i-i-i-it
I done i-i-i-i-it
I done i-i-i-i-it
I did i-it

From intestines inside you, the air starts to ride you
Causing discomfort till it goes its way
I am no stranger to methane unfurled
I gave forth the gas, as what's churned must release
To be true to the insides, I'm free to let wind swell
Flatulent, lethally cutting the cheese

I just ripped so, the place has turned into
An old leaky furnace or a new gas well
I just ripped so, we're all standing in it
Before we suffocate, let's all run like hell

I did i-i-i-i-it
I done i-i-i-i-it
I done i-i-i-i-it
I did i-i-it

Bake It to the Limit

To the tune of "Take it to the Limit" by The Eagles

All alone at the parlor last evening
Tryin to hide my disgust at the food
I was loathing your blueberry muffins
That were soft and blue

You know I've always been a burner
(Can't stop at golden brown)
And it's so hard to change
(Rock hard to keep it down)
And the things I've eaten lately
You know I'm gonna pout
And gonna shout
And holding out for coal

So put meat on the fireplace
And burn me a swine
And bake it to the limit
One more time

You can spend all your time on it, honey
You can spend all your dough, every dime
At the end, if my teeth crack it open
It won't be mine

Always searching for the well done
(No clue at what was there)
Till it can't burn no more
(Can't taste it anywhere)
If there's air left for breathing
Then just shove it back
Till it's charred black
And the oven cracks somewhere

And put heat on the high grade
And burn me some dine
And bake it to the limit
One more time

Bake it to the limit
Bake it to the limit
Bake it to the limit, everytime

Aging Reliever

To the tune of "Daydream Believer" by the Monkees

Oh, I can't hide on the mound
Throw the rosin on the ground
I'm not brought in for mop-up for a change
Bases full, I got my sign
And the game is on the line
Facing a batter that is half my age

Clinging to a lead
But oh, what can it mean
To an aging reliever
In the home half seventeenth

I deny that I saw
Connie Mack and John McGraw
But I was a good starter in the eighties
But now I'm out of time
Reaching the end of the line
Facing athletic obscurity

Clinging to the dream
But oh, what can that mean
To an aging reliever
About to part the scene

ERA's 18
But oh, what can that mean
To an aging reliever
Still here at 43

On a last place team
But oh, what can that mean
To an aging reliever
In a watered down league

Pounds of Pilons

To the tune of "Sounds of Silence" by Simon & Garfunkel

Hello thruway traffic jam
I've crossed paths with you again
Forty miles slowly creping
Maybe some jackass up there's sleeping
But men in hardhats and orange vests explain
Why the strain
As they lay down the pilons

On a crowded street I drive alone
It might be faser to walk home
Under the glare of a street lamp
A single spot in the road encamped
When my eyes were fixed on the flash of blinking lights
That said "Veer right
"Avoid the pounds of pilons"

And in a thruway sign I saw
"Construction here 'til '24"
People driving without moving
People employed without working
The Union provides that one man works while fourteen stare
No one dares
Disturb the pounds of pilons

When I'll be home I do not know
The back-up like a cancer grows
Hear the hammer that it might taunt you
Watch the sun set that it might haunt you
The weekend's moments, like misty raindrops fell
Echoed the hell of pilons

And the people there grounded stayed
Right there stuck in line for days
Construction came on without warning
Fifty-two lanes into one forming
And the linestayed until the works of the county had been fulfilled
As it was willed
By the pounds of pilons

Scrambled Eggs

To the tune of "Yesterday" by the Beatles

Scrambled eggs
That's what all the punks in England ate
And now, they're trying to recuperate
Now on my plate are scrambles eggs

Suddenly
I've got half the ham I used to eat
And I barely even touch my meat
Those scrambled eggs, I overeat

Why she hadn't poached, I don't know
She wouldn't bake
I said can't get enough of that stuff
Those scrambled eggs

Scrambled eggs
Caused great girth to grow upon my legs
I've eaten buckets of it to the dregs
I'll have more kegs of scrambled eggs

Wasted the Buffet

To the tune of "Wasted on the Way" by Crosby, Stills, and Nash

Look around me
I can see two swine before me
Eating everything I'm able to fit on a plate
I am orbal now
I ate more than what I wanted
And a dish that I had started it had no finish

Chorus
There's so much grub to eat up
Everywhere we turn
This time, we have wasted the buffet
So much food is moving
They're closing up the grill
Will the warden come and carry us away

Oh, when we were young
When we busted all our garters
We gusted all our farters
And ruled all self-serve
Look around us now
Management now has caght on
They're ready to expel before our eighth dessert

There's so much grub to eat up
Everywhere we turn
This time, we have wasted the buffet
So rotund and portly
I am such a pig
Will the medics come to carry us away

There's so much grub to eat up
Everywhere we turn
This time, we have wasted the buffet
So much for my diet
I'll clear out the fridge
Till the warden comes and carries us away
Will the warden come and carry us away

Fudd

To the Tune of "Addicted to Love" by Robert Palmer

All day long, you jump and hop
Repeating, "What's Up, Doc"
Your wife don't know what to think
That's why you're here, cause I'm your shrink

You can't eat (no) no meat
But them cawwots can't be beat
You went huntin that's what you did
And this time, you flipped your lid

Oh and you went hunting for that wabbit, but, oh yeah
You closed in for the kill and you fired a dud
You're going to have to face it, you are Elmer J. Fudd

This beha-vior has to stop
You own a mansion and a yacht
A tad eccentric, but it's no crime
I've got to say, you're not lapine
You've lost your mind, you've gone insane
The pressure got to your brain
You're not a wabbit, you ain't a hare
You're Elmer Fudd, the milionaire

Oh you like to think that you're a bunny, Bud, oh yeah
It says here on your liscence I'm not making this up
No, you're gonna have to face it, you are Elmer J. Fudd

Might as well face it, you are Elmer J. Fudd
Might as well face it, you are Elmer J. Fudd
Might as well face it, you are Elmer J. Fudd
Might as well face it, you are Elmer J. Fudd
Might as well face it, you are Elmer J. Fudd

Your lights are on, but you're not home
Disorder racks your dome
You're as cra-zy as can be
So get a grip and pay your fee

Oh you'll need therapy ro get out of this rut, oh yeah
I'm prescribing a vacation and a six-pack of suds
Yeah, you're gona have to face it, you are Elmer J Fudd

Might as well face it, you are Elmer J. Fudd
Might as well face it, you are Elmer J. Fudd
Might as well face it, you are Elmer J. Fudd
Might as well face it, you are Elmer J. Fudd

Mr. Glue

To the tune of "Mr. Blue" by the Fleetwoods

I'm not a good race horse, I know

I always run caboose

I never did win, place, or show

It seems I'm bound to lose

My odds aren't very hopeful at 195-2

So if you decide to lose money, bet on Mr. Glue

I'm Mr. Glue

An overweight gelding

Out on the track with a stooped back

And a nasty limp too

Call me Mr. Glue

I'm Mr. Glue

Ran last at the Derby

Just wandered around with my nose to the ground

My days of racing is through

Call me Mr. Glue

I am a bonafide

Victim of equicide

Glue factory: that will be my next ride

Call me Mister

I'm telling you

My prognostication

Stuck in last, sticking to my past

Lots of sticking to do

When they change me to glue

Call me Mr. Glue